


if we're talking body

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Dacryphilia, M/M, Omorashi, Prostate Massage, Recreational Drug Use, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: “I, uh,” Dima starts, laughing breathily. The color is high on his cheeks, pink as the whites of his eyes. “I pissed myself yesterday.”Sylvain laughs, because he can’t do anything else. He laughs and he laughs, and he starts to feel bad because part of his brain is getting worried that he’s been laughing forhours, his smile stretched into his face like it’ll never stop, but—he stops. He breathes. He sets the bowl down. “What?”Or: Sylvain discovers something new about Dimitri.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 119





	if we're talking body

**Author's Note:**

> listen, i wrote this at work in 45 minutes, i don't have time for titles

It’s an accident, honestly—Sylvain’s just trying to help out a friend (with benefits), who just so happens to be his roommate (with benefits). It’s not supposed to mean anything; they fuck, sometimes, usually drunk or high but one time very, very sober, and Sylvain is a bit worried that that was the best time of all, but—

He and Dimitri are two bowls deep, apartment hazy and thick with smoke. Dimitri murmurs something, at first too quietly for Sylvain to hear, but when Sylvain presses him—“Come on, Dima, louder,” just a little slurred—he acquiesces.

“I, uh,” Dima starts, laughing breathily. The color is high on his cheeks, pink as the whites of his eyes. “I pissed myself yesterday.”

Sylvain laughs, because he can’t do anything else. He laughs and he laughs, and he starts to feel bad because part of his brain is getting worried that he’s been laughing for _hours_ , his smile stretched into his face like it’ll never stop, but—he stops. He breathes. He sets the bowl down. “What?”

Dima smiles, and it’s beautiful. Sylvain feels warmth curl inside his chest like the smoke in his lungs. “It was an accident,” he says, like he might have done it on purpose.

“Why are you telling me?” Sylvain asks, because—he’s curious, now, a little hot, and he doesn’t know why but he also doesn’t have time to analyze it. “You weren’t in my bed, were you?”

The tips of Dimitri’s ears turn pink. “No,” he says, quickly. “No, I was in—my bed.”

“You pissed yourself,” Sylvain says, “in your bed?”

“Yeah,” Dimitri breathes. “I, uh.”

“Why? Or—how? What the fuck?” He’s laughing again, but it’s softer, more hungry. He feels heat gather at the back of his neck.

“I was—you said. About prostates,” Dimitri says, voice a bit broken, a bit hoarse. He’s embarrassed, clearly, but not enough to quit talking. “I wanted to try.”

Sylvain’s brain works sluggishly, already overheated and oversoft, but—“Yeah,” he finally says, placing the conversation they’d had last month in the fraternity basement. They’d just left chapter, formally dressed and showered for the first time since Thursday, and Dimitri had pulled him into the recreation room (one of many, but—) and kissed him silly. That’s what they did, usually: kissing and frotting and humping through their jeans, except for the one time that Sylvain had blown Dimitri, stretched his lips to splitting and swallowed around the biggest cock he’d ever seen. Dimitri fucks him, sometimes, too, but it’s always in the dark, always in Sylvain’s bed, always after hours. They don’t talk about it.

“You asked me to fuck you,” Sylvain remembers, words sloppy.

“Yeah,” Dimitri says, and he sways a bit. He pulls one knee up to his chest, resting his chin on the flannel of his sweatpants. He looks peaceful, almost soft; if Sylvain ignores the eyepatch and the broad cut of his chest, the swell of his pecs, Sylvain would almost call him _harmless_. “I just wanted to try it out.”

Sylvain hums. “The fucking?”

“The prostate part,” Dimitri clarifies. “I read that it’s easier with another person, but, you know. I was...curious, and…” He trails off. “I think I, um. Went too hard.”

That’s—not surprising, but it is _new_. “Too hard?” Sylvain asks, blinking owlishly. “The fuck does that mean?”

“I looked it up, and. Sometimes. If you—press too hard or too long, or too much, I guess, your body can...um.” Dimitri flounders for a moment. “It can misinterpret the signal.”

“You made yourself,” Sylvain says, “ _piss_ yourself.”

Dimitri only nods, biting at his lower lip. It’s already flayed with chapped skin.

“I mean—was it worth it?” Sylvain asks. There’s sweat on the back of his neck, on his palms, a building pressure in his gut and groin that’s new, almost, except it’s so much like what he feels when Dimitri gets on his knees at night—

“Yeah,” Dimitri says, quietly at first, and then: “Yeah. It was, um. Great.”

Which is how, then, they end up back in Sylvain’s bed, Sylvain two fingers deep in Dimitri’s ass, thrusting slowly and patiently and just a little excitedly. Dimitri looks good like this, _really_ good like this—spread out on Sylvain’s old quilt, hair untied and spread about his head like a stupid, golden halo, and his lips are parted and pink and _wet_ , so wet, wet from biting and sucking and from Sylvain’s tongue in his mouth, which, by the way—

Sylvain leans over to kiss Dimitri again, again, presses his tongue between those perfect lips and fucks Dimitri’s mouth, tastes the smoke behind his teeth and the single beer they’d shared earlier, somehow still sweet, and Dimitri _whines_. He works himself down onto Sylvain’s fingers, writhing where Sylvain has him pinned, and Sylvain feels the sweat pool between their bodies, hot and slick where their chests touch and slide and he can feel the catch of his piercings, bright and sensitive, on Dimitri’s perfect abs.

He twists his fingers, searching for that tight bundle of nerves, and it takes him a few fumbling tries before he finds it, finally, fingers catching at the groove of it before pressing down and _rubbing_. Dimitri’s head falls back, neck bared, a single bead of sweat dripping from his temple as he moans, breathless and overwhelmed. Sylvain doesn’t let up, keeps massaging Dimitri’s prostate, watching Dimitri’s thick cock bob above his stomach and drool, fat beads of precum that drip down the hot length. He wants it in his mouth, actually, but he’s got a job to do, and when Dimitri’s hips start twitching against his palm, Sylvain laughs and adds another finger.

“That better for you, sweetness?” he purrs, thrusting deep with three fingers. “You like the stretch of me inside of you?”

Dimitri’s mouth falls open with a wet moan, eyes fluttering shut as tears gather on his lashes. He’s always been pretty like this, spread out for Sylvain, but this— _this_ is new, all easy, desperate vulnerability, and Sylvain drinks it in until his chest feels close to bursting.

He fucks Dimitri faster, harder, slamming his fingers into Dimitri’s prostate until Dimitri begins to cry in earnest. He heaves with great, gasping sobs, hands clenched desperately in the sheets of Sylvain’s bed, and Sylvain almost feels bad except for the fact that Dimitri keeps _fucking_ himself, puffy hole sucking greedily at Sylvain’s fingers.

“Is this what you did, Dima?” Sylvain asks, rubbing cruelly against Dimitri’s prostate. “Is this how it felt?”

Dimitri nods frantically, fat tears slipping down his cheeks as he gasps, “Yes, yes, Syl—Sylvain—”

“I bet you could do it again,” Sylvain says, caressing Dimitri’s hip with his free hand. Dimitri’s cock is practically _weeping_ , wet and slick with precum, and it’s so, so beautiful. He keeps rubbing. “Couldn’t you, baby?”

Dimitri whines and shivers, whole-body. “Y-yes,” he stammers, voice weak on a breath. “Yes, I, I’m almost, I—”

“Oh, baby,” Sylvain says, _coos_ , “are you going to piss yourself? Hm?”

There’s little warning but for the frantic fluttering of Dimitri’s hole, the flexing of his balls—and Sylvain doesn’t know how Dimitri _does_ it, cock still hard as fuck as he shouts and begins to spill all over himself, stream after stream of hot, golden piss.

Sylvain milks him through it, waits until Dimitri’s caught his breath to withdraw his fingers. When he does, though, Dimitri whines and catches Sylvain’s wrist, eye unfocused and hazy where he meets Sylvain’s gaze.

“I’m,” he says, shyly. “You can—keep going.”

Sylvain hisses a breath. “Are you sure, Dimitri?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest. He feels his own erection like an iron brand against his thigh. “You just, uh…”

“Want you to come,” Dimitri says, and he’s slurring his words in a way that makes Sylvain _melt_. “On me, Sylvain, come on me, alright?”

With a groan, Sylvain readjusts. His knees pop against the mattress, sore where they’ve been bent and neglected, but—he pulls himself over top of Dimitri, knees bracketing his thighs, and they really _should_ have put down some towels, but Sylvain can’t find himself to care about his grandmother’s quilt once he’s fisting his cock.

It doesn’t take him long to come, mind still a bit hazy from his high, skin damp from Dimitri’s display, and by the time Dimitri’s locking eyes with him, lips barely parted on a gasp, Sylvain’s orgasm crests through him like a wild animal.

They lie in the aftermath, panting and cooling off. They don’t speak, they never do, but Dimitri does offer a tentative kiss to Sylvain temple, and when he moves to open his mouth, Sylvain bumps their shoulders.

“Nah,” he says, and Dimitri takes the hint. With a soft smile and a kiss to Dimitri’s jawline as thanks, Sylvain closes his eyes and drifts.

He’ll do laundry in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/nishtabel)


End file.
